No connection at all between the poem and “Cowgirls”. It’s just that I discovered early this morning that I had a small windfall of cash on hand, and so I got it into my head to give away two copies of the novel to interested readers. Basically, it’s a random drawing sort of thing. Just wanted you to know about it so if you hadn’t read the novel, you’d at least have a chance at a free copy.

Very astute of you, Jacqui. It was a troublesome line to write. It was a troublesome time for us, so tough trying to work, often more than one job, and also be there for my kids when they needed me. I’ve always regretted how many times I couldn’t be the mother I wanted to be because the job demanded fiefdom loyalty. Sadly, my husband couldn’t grasp the depth of my worries (and exhaustion) and didn’t recognize the problem, so it created more problems. What I see of my close, younger friends also working, mothering, spousing, is that there are too many demands and not enough time-space for a deep breath. Thanks for your comment – gave me a chance to explain.

Ah…the terrible passage of time. And you gave it to us as a show, not a tell. Bravo. The details differ for all of us, but I think most can relate to the picture of wistful maturity that you painted. : )

Cathleen, I’m pleased you liked this poem. We do change as we grow up, trading childish dreams for the course of real life experiences, and then in our later years for a chance to give back for all we’ve enjoyed.
I really did think I’d wear a tiara when I married and walk down a rose covered aisle, but would not change anything that I actually lived. Now I’m just hoping people will think well of me, my ultimate crown.

Beautifully written poem, like a song it takes us through the different stages in your
life. I had hair like that too, bellow my waist. 🙂 All the stages you tell are filled with
beauty and passion, at times sadness.
Just to say, I love this poem.

A brief history of life, and though I’m old, I still intend to make my life more worthwhile, I still want to leave a decent legacy. Took me a long time to figure it out.
Thank you for reading, Miriam. I always appreciate your thoughts.

What a cool poem!! Amazing to live your life through your hair and the identity it provides, Shari. I could visualize you swinging your waist length locks with abandon as a teen. I am one of those women who was teased mercilessly as a child for having curly red hair with a bad haircut. By my 20s and 30s, I had long, gorgeous curly red hair that people thought they could replicate from a bottle. As a woman inches from 60 with thick shoulder-length, strawberry-blond hair, with just a few white strands, I stand proud and vindicated.

I’ve got a huge grin on my face, Terri, and am always pleased when someone makes me smile. You really do have gorgeous hair but better, you have a wonderful, upbeat personality and it shines in every part of your blog as I’m certain it does in your life. You are wearing a crown of a good name.

Wow, Sharon – I just read this twice for the sheer joy of your imagery. Will probably be back to read again. There is a lot I can relate to (the long hair experience)…. The realities of adulthood and parenting. Thank you for sharing your own experience, so poetically.

I used to have hair like that too, not curly but very long and full, and it drew lots of envy from the other girls who always wanted me to cut my hair, which I never did. 😉 Sadly stress and whatnot over the years made war on my hair and what used to be glorious is now very thin. I know we shouldn’t be vain but bald spots can trouble a woman’s ,soul quite a lot. 😯 Ah, well, there are worse things.

I love how you described the journey from childhood dreams to maturity, and all the compromises that includes in your poem. And Charlie is right – you can not bat that visual artist down, and your poetry is all the better for it!😊

Sharon Lynne Bonin-Pratt began her writing career the way so many others have done: by first doing everything else. Winning entries in grade school art, story, and essay contests convinced her to become a writer, but the real world intruded in adulthood and demanded she pay bills, raise kids, be a contributing member of the community. Along that rutted path she worked in the commercial art field designing patterns for surfer shorts, bikinis, and Hawaiian style shirts, taught after-school art through a city recreation program, and structured an art curriculum for three private schools. Ten years ago the writing muse, struggling to breathe in letters to friends and art articles, found its way to the surface. In a two-week period Shari wrote 60 pages of her first historical novel, and didn’t stop for three years. By then a second book demanded paper – OK, computer space – and now the third is in final revision stage. Of course, final revision is two words with a long shadow and a little footprint. Some folk claim they will write when the floors get vacuumed, the family accounting completed, the new garden planted. Shari is proof that all those things can be successfully ignored but not the urge to write. Her fiction explores human relationships, revenge, rage, forgiveness, redemption, and all the labyrinthine quandaries that mess up otherwise perfect lives. She resides in Southern California with her husband who’s learned to vacuum but not to cook. And the garden needs help.